


Between a Wild Time and a Flat Line

by saekokato



Series: Slayer'verse [3]
Category: Backstreet Boys, Bandom: My Chemical Romance, Bandom: Panic at the Disco, Bandom: The Young Veins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekokato/pseuds/saekokato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob's friends throw him a surprise birthday party. Except nobody invited the monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between a Wild Time and a Flat Line

Bob fumbles for the knife in his pocket at the screams, dropping the bag of priceless books he and Frank had picked up for Brian in Tucson to the floor. The screams actually register as shouts along the lines of "Happy Belated Birthday, Bob!" about the same time as Bob finally manages to unearth the thing. Frank is on the floor next to the books, giggling his annoyingly screechy giggle.

Bob fucking hates his boyfriend.

"Bob! Why so fierce, Bob? There's nothing but love here!" Is the only warning Bob has before he has two armfuls of Brendon Urie.

For all of two seconds.

"Damn-it, Brendon. You are such a fucking idiot," Ryan grumbles as Spencer bodily pulls Brendon off of Bob. Luckily, Bob had only pulled the knife out and hadn't, oh, opened the blade or anything even mildly helpful in the face of a full body attack. Not that Bob would want to kill Brendon.

Maiming has crossed Bob's mind a time or two, though. The kid is entirely too open with personal boundaries.

"Bob could have killed you, Brendon. And I can't say I'd blame him," Ryan continues. He has his arms crossed over his skinny chest and is frowning at Brendon. Or, at least, frowning if Ryan ever made an actual facial expression. Bob would have been just as able to translate Ryan Ross as your average tree stump had the two of them not fallen into that trap by that coven of evil witches a year ago.

(Bob has learned, mostly from threats to his life by the various good witches he and Frank have worked with in the past half-decade, to always specify the difference between good and evil witches. Vicky-T may be beautiful, but Bob is more appreciative of her left hook than his is of her, admittedly awesome, breasts.)

"Relax, Ryan Rossy!" Brendon squirms from Spencer's grasp and proceeds to wrap himself around Ryan. "Bob loves me! Bob would never hurt me!"

"He would if I asked him to," Ryan informs Brendon. But he still wraps a fingerless gloved hand around Brendon's hip.

"Bob wouldn't!" Brendon attempts to stare Ryan down, even if the kid wouldn't know a good stare down if it bit him in the ass. Eyebrows do not wag or wiggle in a good stare down. Bob would know - he and Frank engage in enough of them.

"Bob would," Bob corrects. He puts his knife away and kicks a still giggling Frank in the side. "But I would demand doughnuts in payment."

"What if I said it was for the good of the world?" Ryan asks. Brendon had given up trying to match Ryan glare for glare and now had his head tucked onto Ryan's shoulder.

"And coffee," is all Bob says.

"Nice to see you're still such a sweetheart, Bryar." Brian pushes past the trio to pull Bob into a quick hug. Complete with a few manly backslaps.

"What's so urgent about a birthday party, Schechter?" Bob asks. Because Brian should know better than to cry wolf. Next time Bob might just leave his ass to die by slime monster.

"I never said it was an emergency, Bryar," Brian scoffs. At least Bob thinks that's what the sound Brian makes is supposed to be. Obviously Brian's been spending too much time with Gerard without supervision again. Bob is going to have to have another talk with Ray, especially to emphasize Rule #1.

(Rule #1: Never leave Brian and Gerard unsupervised for long periods of time unless proper distraction material is provided. Example: porn.)

"If you choose to interpret my message like that, it's your own damn fault," Brian says. "I am not responsible for your colossal apparitions."

Yeah. Bob and Ray definitely need to have a long talk. Rule #2: Brian's subscription to the OED is to remain null and void for the safety of all. Yes, Toro, even the demons.

"Whatever you say, Cupcake," Bob says. "Now if this is a birthday party, where's the fucking cake?"

"All in due time, man," Gerard says from behind Bob. Despite all accounts to the contrary, Bob is not startled. Gerard's grin has nothing to do with Bob's not being startled. In fact, Bob knows it's all for Brian, whom Gerard has saddled up next to. Those three, seriously. "You don't need all that sugar, really. It's bad for you."

Bob glares at him and Brian both. "What is with you two? He won't give me top shelf. You won't give me cake. Ray is totally my favorite."

"Thanks a lot, Bryar," Ray says dryly. He puts his arm around Gerard's waist. "I haven't done anything to you, so why do you have to cause trouble for me?"

"Too much time with Iero," Brian says. He leans against Gerard as he smirks at Bob.

Ray takes a moment to think about that. His nod of agreement has Frank, who had just climbed off of the floor, launching himself at Ray with a (not at all) fierce Iero war cry. The tackle sends Ray, Frank, and Gerard to the floor. Brian, having spent too much time around Wentz, had sidestepped Frank's lunge.

Bob just punches Brian's shoulder. "Fuck off, Cupcake. I have far too many stories of you being a complete dumbass waiting in the wings for your shit."

"Oohh! Stories? What kind of stories?" Brendon asks. He sidesteps the flailing pile of limbs that is Ray, Gerard, and Frank to pop up at Bob's side. "Are they fun stories that'll make Brian blush and swear? Because Ray and Gee seem to have run out of them."

"Oh my god, Brendon. Shut up!" Spencer groans. Brendon just smiles cheekily at him while Ryan looks long suffering. Considering Ryan had been dragged over by Brendon because the two were still attached, Bob figures Ryan has a right to look long suffering. Even if he and Spencer should be used to Brendon by now.

Bob knows the feeling.

"Yes, Urie, shut up," Brian says. He sighs. "We don't need to be egging Bob on."

"Poor Brian – your life, so hard!" Bob says with a snicker.

"One day I will kill you and it will all be blamed on the werewolves, Bryar," Brian warns. He even shakes his finger in Bob's face. Bob is nice enough to not break it for him.

"Aww, Cupcake! Don't be like that," Bob says. He picks up and drops the duffle of books. They thump loudly against the hardwood. "Especially since I brought you gifts."

"Isn't that a little backwards?" Ryan asks. "What with this being your birthday party?"

"I like doing things backwards," Bob says. "It keeps you people on your toes."

"Ha! You just don't want to admit you hadn't figured out the surprise party," Frank says. He's giggling, and Ray is holding him in the air by his feet. Gerard is looking on with a calculating expression on his face, and Bob knows an epic tickle-tackle battle is about to begin.

At least they aren't in a set of cramped vans this time.

"The monkey is all yours, Toro," Bob says. He wants nothing to do with any epic battles at the moment. He wants friends, laughter, and cake. He motions Brian forward as he picks the duffle up again. "Lead the way, Schechter. Then we'll get down to this party business."

Brain rolls his eyes but leads the way through the rest of the people in the room – Mikey and his wife, Alicia, their east coast contact who was supposed to have been vacationing in Cancun, a couple of the local Decaydance crew, all the people Bob knows and is willing to trust, and all of whom who were watching Frank be an idiot with great glee – to the back hallway that leads from the living room to the kitchen-dinning room, the basement/gym doorway, and the study.

|-|

"Do you have to egg them on?" Brian asks with a sigh. He starts unloading the duffle. Bob would help except for how Brian's a pissy little bitch when his perfect organization system is messed up.

Also, it's Bob's birthday party. He's allowed to be lazy.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Bob says. He leans back in Ray's desk chair – the most comfortable of all the chairs in the room – and puts his feet up on the table in front of him. It's a tiny little thing that only holds a lamp and shakes a little under the extra weight but holds up enough that Bob is pretty sure it won't collapse under him.

It honestly looks like a coffee house café and a library threw up in this room. There are three long tables that you'd find in your average public library arranged in a triangle at the center of the room with a couple smaller personal desk style tables scattered around the fringes, and about ten different types of chairs pushed every which way. The walls are lined with built in bookcases that hold everything from ancient demon texts to last month's X-Men release, and everything else in between.

Bob has no idea how Brian manages to get anything done in this room – Gerard is crazy enough to feel comfortable in here but Bob can only imagine Brian tearing out his hair in frustration over the chaos.

"You didn't call us out here for a party," Bob continues.

Brian shifts the seven hundred year old Rinae text back and forth between his hands for a couple of moments. Then he places it next to the well worn Joe Trohman Handy-Dandy Notebook.

(Brian certainly has a filing system. Mostly Bob thinks it's 'just toss a book on the shelf in a random order so that it _looks_ like it's in some preordained order'.

Brian is an asshole like that.)

"Yes and no," Brian says. He moves Gerard's Hellboy anthologies to the side and slides the latest edition of _Merc's Lies of Angels and Saints_ in its place. "Mikey, Alicia and Jamia were all visiting anyway, Ross, Urie and Smith are on their way through town, and everyone else has settled within a four hour drive. Not too hard to call everyone up and say, 'Party!'"

"So this was Gerard's idea," Bob says. It's either that or Frank is being a sneaky little shit again.

"Frank's a sneaky little shit," Brian confirms.

"He's still pissed about New Years," Bob sighs. Like it was Bob's fault they'd ended up snowed in at a creepy but not at all supernaturally infected bed and breakfast in Wyoming for the week surrounding Bob's birthday.

"Frank's still pissed," Brian agrees. He slides the last book into place. Then he picks up a couple of sheets of paper with Spencer's and Gerard's scrawls scribbled across them. "And then there's this."

Bob takes the papers and flips through them. He can't read Gerard's handwriting on a good day but given that Spencer's own neat writing has jotted down a demonic language that Bob isn't familiar with, Bob doesn't think he could have read it anyway. There are a couple of sketches – symbols and odd patterns – that seem familiar lining the outside margins of all the pages. Bob can't place them, but he knows them. Especially the little swirly thing that almost looks like quarter moon that grew fuzz. He tells Brian as much.

Brian shrugs. "We'll figure it out. Smith said that it wasn't urgent yet, so we've spent the last couple of days doing some basic research."

"Business that slow?" Bob asks. Because they rarely have time to do days of basic research – the Snowflake Hellmouth may not be the most happening of Hellmouths but there is still usually something going on. For nothing to be happening is a really bad sign.

"Even Miguel's kids have been perfect little darlings," Brian sighs. He leans against one of the long tables – Frank swears they stole them from the public library and the way the accusation sends Brian into a muttering rage and Gerard into a pack a day habit, Bob's willing to bet it's mostly true – and crosses his arms over his chest. "Ray was actually looking at time shares. In Florida. _Florida_. _Ray_."

Bob blinks. "You're telling me this is the last birthday party I'll ever have."

"Yes, princess. Make this all about you," Brain says. He throws a balled up piece of paper at Bob's head.

Which Bob catches and lobs back at him. "You know what I meant, Cupcake." Brian flips him off. "Other than Gerard's and Spencer's horrible handwriting, you have what exactly?"

"Not much." Brian shrugs. "We think the vamp population is growing – not that we can really tell without going crypt to crypt, and I'll thank you not to plant that idea in Gerard's head – and there are a plethora of fresh bodies at the morgue but nothing else is out of the ordinary."

"Except the quiet."

"Except the quiet," Brian agrees.

"Huh." Bob rubs a hand over the back of his neck as he reads through the sheets again. Then he shrugs. "Yeah. I've got nothing."

"Like I said, Smith says we have time," Brian repeats.

"Well, if the Seer says so," Bob drawls.

Brian rolls his eyes. "Shut up, Bryar. Like you know any better."

Bob doesn't but he isn't about to tell Brian that. Or about the heavy feeling pooling in his gut.

|-|

An indeterminate time later, after dinner and presents and the worst rendition of "Happy Birthday" Bob has ever been forced to endure, finds Bob catching up with Jamia, the east coast contact for the Decaydance crew and Brian's little non-regulation Watcher group. Despite the occasional flare up of irrational jealousy – on Bob's part. Who knew working with your boyfriend's long ago ex would be so stress inducing? – Jamia is both excellent company and full of excellent ideas.

Mostly on the Frank wrangling front but Bob isn't going to turn down any useful or pertinent advice.

"Tying him down doesn't really help matters," she's telling him. They're off to one side of the dining room with plates of birthday cake and far, far away from whatever crazy thing Frank is currently involved in with Brendon and Mikey. Bob really, really doesn't want to know. He'd swear on a stack of whatever holy books Gerard happens to have scattered about the main floor of the house that he really, seriously doesn't want to know.

Especially after he'd gotten a good look at the new picture of Mikey and Alicia in the living room. Apparently someone had talked someone else into attending a D&D conference at one of the hotels on the Strip, and Mikey had ended up with a trio of mini-apprentices. All of whom were in the background of the photo wearing costumes straight from fucking EverQuest. Brian says there's a story behind all of that, but Bob just doesn't want to know.

Bob nods. "I know. He was quiet for three days, then BAM. Right back at it."

Jamia pats him on the shoulder. "Could be worse, Bryar."

Bob snorts. "Yeah, you want to explain that to me, Nestor?"

"He could have been a vampire with a soul destined to return to Ultimate Evil should he have a single moment of happiness," she says. Completely straight faced. If Bob were ever to list someone as his hero, her name would be Jamia Nestor.

"What?" Bob asks. Because, what? "Is Gerard working on a new comic?"

Jamia laughs. "No, worse: it's true. The Slayer out in southern California? You know, the actual facts Slayer? Well, apparently she's the one and only and forever of a vampire that's going by the name Angel now."

"Angel?" Bob asks. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Then again, it definitely fits southern California. Bob and Frank haven't been back in that general direction since Brian sent them on that bogus ghost hunt in San Francisco.

"Yep. Angel is actually the vampire Angelus," Jamia says. She stops and takes a bite of her cake, and raises an eyebrow at Bob.

Bob scowls at her. He hates it when people think he hasn't done his research. It isn't his fault he came late to the game. Considering he'd spent twenty years of his life not knowing that there was even a game to begin with, Bob thinks he's doing a damn find job all around. "Angelus was that vampire in the twentieth century that pretty much spread destruction throughout most of Europe, wasn't he?"

"Yep. He's in LA now, fighting the good fight," Jamia says. "Apparently he was cursed by some Romanian gypsies because he tortured and killed one of their favorite sisters or something. Then he and the Slayer fell in love or whatever – she was sixteen? Maybe? – and he went evil and she had to send him to a hell dimension for a while. Soap. Opera."

Bob raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, sounds like it." He takes a bite of his cake and ignores the sudden thump and shouts from the living room. He doesn't want to know. "I think I'll stick with Frank."

"Good choice," she says.

They finish their cake in companionable silence, watching as Ray races into the kitchen for paper towels and ice, then back to the living room. After a few minutes, Brian comes out of the living room holding the bridge of his nose and heading straight for the leftover cake, where he cuts himself a huge slice, and then joins Jamia and Bob.

"I think they might actually be worse than Wentz," Brian says once he's eaten half of his slice. He stares at it for a long moment with his fork raised before he drops the fork on the table and holds the plate out to Bob and Jamia.

"Not possible, and are you're eyes too big for your stomach, Cupcake?" Bob asks. He cuts the cake into two mostly equal portions and gives the larger half to Jamia. "Also, I don't want to know."

"Bite me, Princess," Brian says. "You really, really don't. I liked that lamp, too."

Bob and Jamia wisely say nothing as they finish their second helping of cake. It's good cake, too. Lots of chocolate, whipped frosting, and sprinkles. Not exactly what Bob would have wished for – he knows Gerard and Brendon had to have been the primary persons involved – but still. Very, very tasty.

"So, Schechter," Jamia says as she gathers up their plates and forks to take into the kitchen. Bob and Brian follow her on her way to the dishwasher. "Where're all the people in town? I think every motel in the area is either empty or closed out for the week. And I didn't see those kids you were talking about yesterday on my jog this morning."

"Miguel's brats?" Brian asks. He opens the dishwasher and takes the dirty dishes from Jamia to load them up. "They're usually running around the house at all hours. Maybe Miguel finally grounded the little bastards."

"Give it up, Cupcake. We all know you adore those kids," Bob says. He's staying far away from the cleaning – it's his birthday party and he's going to be lazy if he has to stake something – but his mind is actually on how easy it was to get through town earlier. Usually they hit every light in a four mile radius around Snowflake, and then there are all the people who are usually out and about. The second time they'd come through Snowflake, Frank had started giving points out for the most obnoxious walkers, talkers, and drivers they'd come across.

This time, Snowflake had been a virtual ghost town. The only thing missing had been the tumbleweeds.

"I think we need to sit Smith down and explain the difference between warnings and dates again," Bob says. He really had been hoping for a few days off.

Brian closes the dishwasher with a thud, then turns to Bob. "You can't be serious."

"Sorry, Cupcake," Bob says. He turns and leads Jamia and Brian towards the living room. "Party's over."

|-|

Two hours later, they have everyone situated in the study. Gerard, Ray, and Brian are at a table on one edge of the triangle handing out reference materials and notepads to those that had volunteered to hit the books. Those volunteers include Gerard, Spencer, Ryan, Brendon, Jamia, Mikey, and the trio of Alexes that had followed Mikey and Alicia down from Vegas.

Gerard has everyone in that group separated into three smaller groups. Gerard, Mikey, and Jamia are looking over all of the research Brian and Ray have already cobbled together. Spencer, Ryan, and Brendon are looking into all of the prophecies that have anything to do with either Snowflake's general geographical location or whatever Spencer has Seen that might have something to do with a normally thriving tourist town/Hellmouth suddenly making like a ghost town out of a bad horror film. The Alexes are scouring ever book they can lay hands on for any of the symbols or images on the paper that Brian had shown Bob.

Bob is sitting on one of the tables pushed against the far wall, and Frank is swinging around on the chair in front of him. The two of them, Ray, Brian, Alicia, Big Worm, and the group of four guys from Cortez, Colorado, just over the northeastern Arizona border, are the ones heading out into Snowflake for the up close and personal type of information gathering.

"I've had six Dreams over the last three months that have dealt with this set of symbols," Spencer says. He's pointing at the list of symbols and images that he and Gerard have put up on one of the room's many white boards, some of which having been hastily erected over bookcases. "We haven't had much luck as of yet locating any of these symbols in the normal texts. But Bob and Frank just delivered some texts that might be more helpful to us."

"I've seen those symbols before," Bob says. He has his latest journal out and he's flipping through it as he speaks. Frank has the other four journals in his hands. They're probably going to have to leave them here for Gerard to go through, but Bob figures he might get lucky. It's unlikely, but weirder things have happened. "I can't remember where."

"I remember they mean bad news," Frank says. He's frowning at the whiteboard. "Just… Fuck." He bounces the journals loudly against his knees.

"It'll come to you; don't push it," Spencer says. He spares them both a quick grin when they glare at him in unison. "Trust me."

Bob rolls his eyes and goes back to his journal. If there ever was a guy who knew what he was talking about when it came to minds and remembering shit, Spencer was probably it. Still, that didn't mean Bob had to like it. He knows those symbols and he'll thank his mind to cough up the memories sometime soon.

"Talk to us about the air around here," the other Brian says. He's one of the group of four from Cortez, and he'd told them all to call him 'B-rok' but Bob isn't going to call anyone something that fucking stupid. He's waiting for someone to use the guy's last name so he won't have to keep calling the guy, 'the other Brian'.

(Also, Bob has a hard time calling a guy the same name as a character from fucking _Pokemon_. He doesn't care how many times playing those stupid games has saved his sanity from the tedious boredom that is most of tour life, 'Brock' is a dumb fucking name.)

The other three guys had introduced themselves as AJ, Howie, and Nick. Apparently the four of them had helped Brian, Gerard, and Ray root out a nasty group of werewolves that had been feeding on tourists around the Four Corners.

"It's dry and hot," Brian says. Well, snaps. Brian is being extra snappy and sarcastic at the moment. "You don't live that far north, Littrell."

"He means, what's been going on in the area the last couple of weeks," Howie clarifies. He puts his hand on the arm of the skinny tattooed guy with the sunglasses, Bob thinks his name is AJ, to keep him from getting up.

"It's been a creepy amount of silent in Cortez," Nick says. He spins back and forth in his chair, only narrowly missing hitting Howie or Brian L., who are sitting on either side of him. "No demon uprisings, no spells gone wonky, no roving bands of werewolves looking to snack on the local cheerleaders. Even the local vamps have shut up. Quiet."

Ray nods. "Same here. All of the usual troublemakers have been on their best behavior."

"And the usual signs have been silent," Gerard says. He's sitting on the corner of the table closest to his brother and holding open a huge book that is about twice as wide as he is. "Eerily silent, too."

"The usual signs will go off if a kid stumbles over a patch of newly grown hog's wart," Brian says before anyone has a chance to start asking about this sign or that sign.

"And town was practically empty when we came through this afternoon," Frank says. "I didn't even see the lady who's always out in front of the library."

"Mrs. Ellen, and she's visiting her son for the month," Brian says. He runs a hand through his hair. "We haven't even had to really patrol in almost a week."

"So, what you're saying is that it's been crazy quiet around here, and now all of the locals have fucked off," AJ says. He points at Spencer. "And the Seer says he's been having visions of mysterious symbols that both Bryar and Iero know but can't place, and we – a large contingent of supernatural hunters – have just so happened to conveniently show up in the same place at the same time."

Gerard nods. "Exactly."

"So we're fucked," AJ says. He shares a dark look with Nick.

"I wouldn't say that," Gerard says. "We had quiet periods…"

"Exactly," Brian interrupts. He smiles at Gerard. "Sorry, Gee, but Ray was looking at vacation homes in Florida. _Florida_."

"Awesome. Where's your weapons cache?" AJ asks. He looks over at Howie. "Did we bring the extra bags with us this time?"

"They're all in the trunk, AJ," Howie says. "You can go get it in a minute."

"Spence?" Brendon asks. He climbs out of his chair and goes over to Spencer, who's eyes have gone blank.

Great, another vision. Bob just hopes that this one will be more helpful than the last couple Spencer's had.

The room stays silent as they wait for Spencer to come back to himself. Those on book duty are rustling through whatever they have in front of them, and everyone else is either shifting impatiently or checking whatever weapons they happen to have on them.

Bob spends the couple of minutes reading through the January and February entries in his journal. Somehow he doesn't think that they're going to be dealing with any malevolent ghosts this time around. Which is perfectly fine with him. He's had enough fun being tossed around like a fucking ragdoll.

Finally Spencer's eyes stop staring blankly into space and he sags against Brendon. "Scratch ghosts, werewolves, and any sprites, spirits, and pixies off of our list of baddies," Spencer says, voice dry. "We're dealing with something in the crypts."

"That leaves vampires and about a thousand different demons," Jamia says. She starts listing known crypt loving demons on a clean whiteboard, while the group on recon starts getting ready to leave.

"I didn't see any identifying details, sorry," Spencer says as Bob hands Gerard his journals. Gerard smiles sweetly at Bob, and Bob knows he's going to regret letting Gerard anywhere near his private thoughts. If only Bob really had a choice in the matter. Stupid sense of responsibility.

"It's okay," Ray says. He's spread a map over the long table closest to the door, and he's motioning for the recon group to gather around it. As he talks, he points out the cemeteries he's assigning to each group. "There are only three cemeteries in town. We'll split into three groups: me, Alicia, and Worm in group one and tackling Morris & Sons. Group two will be Brian, Bob, and Frank at Grandview. And you four can take Wolfsbane."

"At least we know the way," Howie says as AJ mutters, "Fucking Wolfs & Bait."

"Come on, McLean," Brian says with a smirk. "Let me show you our cache."

"Bryar!" Spencer says as the nine of them start filing out of the room. He grins weakly at Bob when Bob turns around. "Make sure you have your axe."

Bob doesn't blink at that, just nods and waves over his shoulder as he goes. Of course he isn't going to forget his axe.

|-|

They're halfway through their cemetery when they first hear the moans. Frank and Brian have been bitching about who's idea it was for the surprise party – a conversation Bob could really live without having to hear – while Bob does his best not to end up with a black eye from one of Frank's waving fists or as dinner from a vampire attracted to how loud Frank and Brian are being.

"Look, I'm telling you, I thought it up in Cleveland!" Frank says. Bob really doubts that, considering the last time they were anywhere near Cleveland was about six months before Bob's birthday. "You're just jealous, Schechter."

"Yes, Iero, I'm so fucking jealous," Brian says. He rolls his eyes as he steps around a particularly large and ugly tombstone. "Because you are not completely delusional. Oh, wait."

"Shut up," Frank says. He shakes his stake in Brian's general direction. "Just because you couldn't…"

"Frank. Quiet." Bob stops dead in his tracks when he hears the moans. It's a really low guttural sound, and Bob would have missed it if he hadn't spent half a decade listening for similar sounds over crappy soundboards. He knows that sound, and it isn't something you'd commonly hear over a club's speakers. "Three o'clock, five hundred meters."

Frank spins his stake in his hand and he pulls his short sword out of it's sheath. "What are you hearing?" All trace of good humor is gone from his voice. That's why Bob hadn't stopped hunting with him during those first few months on the road. When Frank is on, he's on, and there aren't many other people in the world Bob would trust to have his back like he does Frank.

"Moans," Bob says. He hefts his axe up, making sure he has a sure grip on it. He definitely knows that sound; now if he could just remember where he's heard that before. Stupid shitty memory.

"Like 'idiots fucking in a cemetery' moans or 'zombies coming for our brains' moans?" Brian asks. He shoves his stake into his back pocket and swings his crossbow off of his back. He's locked and loaded in a manner of seconds, his quiver of extra bolts hanging off of his hip for easy and fast reloading.

"Neither," Bob says. He motions for them to spread out a little, and both Frank and Brian flank him – Frank to Bob's left and Brian to his right – letting Bob take the lead towards what he's hearing. The moans totally aren't sexual, and they aren't quite as squishy sounding as zombies usually are.

Bob really, really fucking hopes they're not going to be dealing with zombies. He hates dealing with zombies. The stench stays with a guy for weeks after fighting with a pack of those things.

They're about two hundred yards away when the screams start. Those aren't sexual either; they're more like 'tourist dying a bloody and painful death' screams. All three of them automatically sprint towards the source, which takes them up and over the only hill in the area.

Bob is the first to crest the small rise and what he sees has him cursing seventeen different ways from Sunday.

At the bottom of the hill is a group of twenty shambling creatures with bumpy foreheads and sharp fangs deep in the throats of what were three teenagers. Bob suddenly remembers where he and Frank have seen those symbols before.

"Fucking shitty shit! Retreat!" He shouts as he turns. The zompires spotted him the moment he crested the hill, so there is no need for stealth. Clarity is all Bob can hope for now. "Frank, haul ass! We've got zompires. Brian, head or heart, both'll ash them."

Frank and Brian had reached the top of the hill about five seconds after Bob had, and they both send up their own wave of foul language when they take in the group of monsters dropping the three corpses and heading up the hill towards them. Fast. Brian takes aim with his crossbow and manages a good three shots before Bob grabs his arm and starts pulling him along after Frank. Who, for once, actually took Bob at his word and had sprinted off in the direction that they'd left the van.

"What the fuck, Bryar?" Brian snaps as they run. They've got half a cemetery between them and the van, and Bob isn't so sure they're going to make it. Fucking Seer, telling him to grab the fucking axe and not a crossbow. Bob is going to deck Smith when he next sees him.

"Zompires – vampire and zombie hybrids," Bob says. "Frank and I had a run in with them just before San Fran. They're just as fast and strong as vamps, and they're three times harder to kill."

"Oh, that's just fucking awesome," Brian says. "Who the fuck came up with a vampire-zombie hybrid?"

Bob doesn't have a chance to answer before Brian's foot catches the side of an overturned headstone and he goes flying out of Bob's reach. His crossbow lands twenty feet in front of them.

"Shit," Bob curses as he skids to a stop. Brian's already climbing to his feet, but there are three of the creatures right behind them, so Bob turns without thinking and brings his axe up and into the first zompire to reach him.

His first swing manages to sever the arm off of the creature, and his back swing takes off its head before it can even gather the breath to growl. Before the ash clears, Bob is stepping through it to remove the head of the second zompire.

"Bryar, duck!" Brian shouts. Bob drops into a squat seconds before a bolt shoots over his head and lands point first in the third zompire's heart.

Bob swivels on his feet and uses his squat to launch himself into another sprint. Brian is right beside him, and Bob hears the rest of zompires catching up to them. They're almost to the gate, and Bob is praying Frank had had enough of a head start.

Fortunately, Frank had had the bright idea to back the van into the cemetery proper, and he has the side door open and waiting for them to jump in. Not thirty seconds after Bob lands inside the van with Brian following right behind him, Frank is speeding their way out of the cemetery, and leaving the zompires in the dust.

Literally. Frank had spun the tires a little on his take off.

"Thanks, Cupcake," Bob says when the two of them finally separate themselves and get the door shut again.

"No problem, Princess," Brian says. He has his phone out, and Bob knows he's dialing Ray; Bob's already grabbing his phone so he can call Howie. "Toro, shut up. You need to pack up and head back to the house right now. We ran into our problem."

|-|

"Zompires? What?" AJ says as everyone settles back in around the study. The group from Cortez is the last group to get back to the house, and between the dirt stains and the ripped clothing, though thankfully no blood, it is obvious that they had had their own little interaction with the baddies of the hour. "No, seriously. What the fuck?"

Bob's second phone call after he'd gotten a hold of Howie, who had already been aware of the creatures and who hadn't needed the extra urging to get the fuck out of dodge, was back to Gerard. Bob had only had to mention the name of the creature before Gerard had started going off in his typically excited Gerard way. It had taken Mikey grabbing the phone away from his brother before Bob could actually explain what had happened.

Thankfully, Mikeyway had not taken after his brother in the world's most excitable category, and he'd done what Bob and Brian had asked from him. When they'd gotten back to the house, the Alexes and Brendon had been organizing all of the projectile weaponry in the living room and loading them into various duffle bags for easier transport. In the study, Mikey and Jamia had been listing every legend, myth, or prophesy that had ever mentioned the creatures on one whiteboard, while Ryan and Spencer were going through every spell they could think of that worked well against both vampires and zombies, and Gerard had been adding his own two cents to both conversations – Gerard Way was a man who knew an unbelievable amount about a good deal of the supernatural world – while trying to find the journal entries dealing with the zompires in Bob's journals.

Now Bob is flipping through his first journal, trying to locate the entries with the zompires because Gerard hadn't been able to find it. Bob doesn't really know why – his handwriting is not nearly as bad as Gerard's own.

"Yes, zompires. Vampire-zombie hybrids," Bob says. He finds the section he's looking for and he puts the journal on the table between Ray and Spencer. Spencer drags it closer to himself before Ray can touch it, and Ryan is reading over his shoulder. "Like vamps, they're fast and strong, and they get their mindless, absolute need to kill from the zombies. They're also about three times harder to kill than either parent group."

"Then how do we kill them?" Big Wormy asks. He's leaning against the wall nearest the door, resting his hands on his massive, two-handed battle axe in front of him. Bob isn't letting himself drool over the thing. If only because it's the size of Frank.

"Beheading and stakes both work," Bob says. He's gone back around the table to lean back against one of the desks that Frank is sitting on. Frank immediately drapes an arm over the shoulder closest to him.

"But not holy water or any other religious affiliation," Frank says. "We spent a night locked up tight in an reinforced crypt with a pack of those things acting like a really bad, really loud, really atonal chorus. Sunrise was the only thing that saved us."

"Help finally arrive?" one of the Alexes asks. Bob honestly isn't even trying to tell any of them apart.

Frank snorts. "No, the sun turned them to dust."

"It was all very squishy," Bob says with a shrug. Frank pokes him in the side of the neck, but Bob doesn't rise to the bait.

Spencer, who doesn't look up from his reading, raises his arm in the air and snaps his fingers. Brendon pops up next him about a second later.

"You snapped?" he asks in a bad Lurch imitation. He even tries raising his eyebrow in the same manner. Bob's pretty sure the kid shouldn't give up hunting for a career in acting.

"I need Brian's 4th century necromancer's spell book," Spencer says. Brendon immediately turns and starts going through the shelves. Bob wishes him luck as it's probably going to take six years before the right book is found; especially since Brian and Gerard are going through the shelves on their side of the room, too.

"Right, because that narrows it down," Frank says. He's now running his fingers through the hair at the back of Bob's neck. Bob does his best not to let his shivers show. Given the grin Bob can hear in Frank's voice, Bob's sure he isn't all that successful.

"It's a black leather book with black gold bindings and a red skull on the cover," Spencer clarifies absently. He's flipped back a couple of pages and is running his fingers down the page as he reads.

"You want _Neste's Necromance and Black Artes_?" Gerard asks. He points out a bookshelf to Brendon, two cases to the left and four shelves lower the one he had been looking on. "You think these things were created by a spell?"

"Who the fuck would think up vampire-zombie hybrids?" Big Worm asks.

"Something like that, maybe," Spencer says. He pushes the journal over to Ray and stands up, going over to the white board with the symbols on it. He picks up the original sheet that Brian had shown Bob and starts reading through it again.

"You have a plan already?" Ryan asks. Bob would say he sounds skeptical, but Bob knows Ryan Ross and his relationship a little better than that. Awesome Brother Syndrome: Ryan has it. "'Neste's' isn't something I want to be dabbling with if we don't one hundred percent need to."

"Here it is, Spence," Brendon says triumphantly. "What are we looking for?"

"Oh!" Ray exclaims suddenly. He motions for Brendon to hand him the book. "Here, let me see that." Brendon blinks but hands the book over to Ray, who flips it open to the middle and starts moving forward through the pages at a rapid pace, muttering to himself. After a moment he grabs a hold of Ryan and drags him into the muttering.

"There's going to be spell work tonight," Frank whispers in Bob's ear. "I can feel it in my bones."

"I'm sure you can, Frankie," Bob says dryly. "Guess it's a good thing we have actual spell casting people here, huh?"

"Yeah, we wouldn't want you to lose another pair of pants, now would we?" Frank giggles. Bob just rolls his eyes and resists the urge to shove him off of the desk. They might need Frank able to fight later on. Besides, Vicky-T had taught Bob a spell to keep his clothing relatively intact through just about everything. Except red wine and grape juice.

The room falls silent as Spencer, Ryan, and Ray work. After about ten minutes Jamia stands up and offers to grab some drinks and food. The Alexes and Big Worm follow her out of the room. Bob just leans back against Frank and closes his eyes. He doesn't mind having some down time while someone else figures out how to solve the problem for once. He just wants to be told where and when to wield his axe.

Jamia and the boys are just coming back into the room when Spencer, Ryan, and Ray start talking over one another. Bob can't really make heads or tails out what they're saying, but the fact that they're all gesturing wildly and half-shouting sentences with "the library!" thrown in, has Bob on his feet to go.

"I take it that we're going to need to pack all this up to go?" Jamia asks. She's put the tray of sandwiches she had been carrying down on one of the side tables just inside of the door and is leaning against the door frame with all of the Alexes and Big Worm still behind her in the hall.

Brian stands up and walks around the table to the door. "Sounds like it. I'll go get the coolers so we can do that. Toro! Smith! Ross!"

"What?" they all say together. Spencer is practically bouncing in place, Ray's hair is defying massive amounts of gravity in his excitement, and they both have massive grins on their faces. Ryan has a smirk on his face, which Bob knows is as close as he's likely to get to outward excitement.

"How long are we going to be gone?" Brian asks. He's totally snapped into manager mode. Bob's glad that someone has. That means, should they end up stuck in the library for a few days, Bob won't have to resort to killing and eating one of the Alexes. Mikey seems partial to them.

"The night," Spencer says. Then he frowns and looks down at the paper he'd been waving around.

"Yeah, not more than that anyway," Ray says. He holds the book up so Spencer can see it and he points at a specific passage. "See?"

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer says. "I get it. But are we going to be able to carry all of the ingredients with us? I don't know about you, but I don't remember my local library carrying an arsenal of spell ingredients and shit."

"Or candles," Ryan says. "Or spellgrade chalk in 'deepest, darkest, soulless black'."

"You've obviously never lived on a Hellmouth," Ray says. He points to a duffle bag under one of the side tables. "Candles and an assortment of spellgrade chalk, ready to go."

"Right then, we'll just go take care of the food then," Brian says loudly, like he knows that neither Ray, Ryan, or Spencer are listening to him.

"Sounds like we're going to need the Joe Troh Spell Kit," Frank says. "Toro, you still have Schechter's old Joe Troh first aid kit?" Bob twists his head away from Frank's with a grimace. The guy never remembers to lower his voice.

Ray looks up from the text again. "What? Oh, yeah! We do! I think Brian's been keeping it stocked up, too. There we go, Smith, spell ingredients, check."

Gerard stands up from the table even as he shares an eye roll with his brother. "Then I guess the rest of us will go load up the cars for this little road trip. Are you three going to remember all of the books and shit we're going to need? Or do you need a babysitter?"

"We'll be fine. Besides, it isn't like Brendon is going to leave us," Ryan says. Brendon smiles at Gerard and gives him a thumbs up.

"Mikey and I will oversee, Gee," Alicia says. She stands up and pats Brendon on the head when he pouts at her.

"All right then!" Gerard says. He claps his hands together and bounces on his heels. "That leaves the rest of us to pack for the apocalypse!" He starts shepparding everyone out of the door.

Frank giggles from where he and Bob still haven't moved. "I guess it's a good thing that we haven't unpacked yet."

Bob snorts but he can't say he disagrees. Loading and unloading all of their various paraphernalia always makes his back ache.

|-|

It takes them a total of three hours to get to the library and to set up for the spell in the main atrium. They haven't seen a living soul other than their group since they left the house and Bob only finds that mildly creepy. He thinks he might actually be getting used to all of this shit.

"Okay, I think that's everything," Ray finally says. He and Ryan are standing in the middle of three consecutive circles of thick drawn chalk. Those three circles are interwoven with four different triangle patterns made with candles laid down on thinly drawn chalk lines, and with two intersecting star patterns marked with yet more chalk and small bags of mixed herbs. He looks around at the work and nods. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is it."

"What about the…" Spencer says, holding up the _Neste's_ text and pointing at something Bob can't see.

"Right, right," Ray says with a nod. He looks around himself and sighs. "Shit. Okay. How about we…"

"That isn't going to work, Ray," Ryan says. "Wrong time of the year."

Bob tunes them out again. He really doesn't care about the specifics of the spell; he just wants it to work. Bob turns around and walks back towards the front doors, where Frank and Brian are keeping watch down Main Street for any unfriendly visitors.

Everyone else is scattered throughout the building, double checking locked doors and windows, and reinforcing everything as best they can. The disappearance of the townspeople is creeping everyone else out, but Bob only finds it mildly creepy. Even Kilky and the dreams had just been fucking annoying after all was said and done. Though if the townspeople were going to disappear, it would have been nice if some of them had let them in on the news..

Getting into the library hadn't been all that hard either. Gerard had had a key to the main doors, and from the look of surprise and worry on Ray's and Mikey's faces and the exasperated annoyance on Brian's, Bob knows there's a story there that he really doesn't want to know about either.

The library itself is a three story, old brick building built somewhere around the forties and fifties. There's a basement with three separate sewer exits, one of which, according to Gerard, had been blocked off with cider blocks and cement back in the late sixties during one of the first remodels of the interior building. Bob isn't a fan of basements to begin with, and he's glad that Big Worm and the Cortez guys had handled all of that. Just taking care of the main floor with Brian and Frank in the dark had been bad enough for Bob.

(It is entirely possible that Bob had seen _Ghostbusters_ far too many times in his youth.)

Their fallback plan, should the spell not work, is to wait out the zompires inside of the building for as long as they need to. Brian, once again channeling his old manager ways, had packed them up with enough supplies to survive until Pete, Patrick, Joe, and Andy could get to them, should that need to happen. Bob, for one, is really fucking hoping it doesn't. And not just because he doesn't want to be stuck in a small building with a bunch of blood thirsty hybrid demons trying to get inside to either suck his blood or eat his brains – Bob still isn't sure exactly which it is, or if it's actually both – but he's already done it once.

It's that Wentz would be unbearable if he actually came out for the rescue. And Bob's pretty sure that the zompires would give Matt indigestion.

"They almost ready?" Brian asks quietly when Bob walks up.

Bob shrugs as he takes his spot just behind Frank, leaning against the wall and letting his hand fall to Frank's hip. Frank looks up quick to smile at him before he goes back to staring down the street. "They should be, but they're still arguing about details. How are we here?"

"Not a sign of anything, which is creepier than I remember," Brian admits. He turns away from his window so he can wave his cell phone at Bob. "Everyone has checked in. This is the only way in or out of the building – Worm even blocked off the sewer exits. I'm not sure how and I'm not going to ask, but he did it. We're good for the long run."

Bob nods. "Good. Then I guess it's time to kick that husband of yours into gear."

"He's not my husband," Brian says, but he doesn't really rise to the bait. It's an old argument.

"Hey, demon marriage contracts are still binding, Cupcake," Bob says. "It ain't my fault none of you read the fine print first."

Brian rolls his eyes. "I'm going to go see how things are going in there. Keep an eye out, yeah?"

Bob and Frank both nod, and Brian snorts as he walks away. Bob goes to shift over to Brian's vantage point, but Frank leans back into him before he can properly move. "Yes, Frank?"

"Stay a minute, Bob. Not like we won't hear them coming," Frank says. His voice is quiet, and Bob can see his smile in the window reflection.

Bob has to admit that he's right, so he stays where he is. It's been awhile since they've had a break – probably since Bob's actual birthday – so it isn't like they've really had a lot of time to just stay with each other. Most of the time, they're moving from one thing to the next, and if they aren't traveling, they're falling into bed (or wherever it is that they're sleeping) exhausted. Not a lot of down time to be had, honestly.

It's nice being able to stay with Frank like this. So much of their lives is hectic and crazy, a quiet moment or two is awesome. If they weren't in charge of keeping an eye out for blood thirsty, brain hungry monsters, Bob would be inclined to show Frank just how awesome it is.

Still, Bob leans down and presses his lips to the side of Frank's neck. Frank makes a soft sound and leans more heavily against Bob, bringing one hand up to place it over the one Bob has on his hip. It wouldn't do to not take some sort of advantage of this moment.

They stay like that until Brian comes back down the hallway. Brian rolls his eyes when he sees them, but Bob can see the smile he's trying to fight down, too.

"If you two don't mind, Ray and the Wonder Trio are ready to let us know what's going on," Brian says.

"Okay," Frank says. "But who are we leaving at the door?"

"We're going to batten the hatches, Iero," Brian says. "And Worm is going to stand guard at the atrium entrance. He'll hear if anything tries breaking in."

|-|

In the end, all everyone needs to do is stand in a circle around the design on the floor. There are four compass points outside of that circle, with Worm being the North point at the room's entrance, Bob as the South point, and Alicia and Jamia as the East and West points respectively.

Ray and Ryan both simultaneously read out two different incantations, in two different demonic languages, while the rest of them have to chant another incantation in a third demonic language, and then it is all over with a loud bang and a puff of obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke.

Bob is thoroughly unimpressed. Especially since he seems to be the only one covered in the obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke residue. If he ever runs into the assholes who thought it would be a good idea to try and start a fucking zompire army to bring about some obscure apocalyptic prophecy from the 4th century , he's going to make them sit through this damn spell, and then he's going to shove the obnoxious smelling, lime green smoke residue down their fucking throats.

Not that he believes any of the idiots who started this shit are actually still alive. Bob's pretty sure that zompires are the types of pets that bite the hands that feed them. And the heads, arms, legs, torsos…

"You have abysmal luck, Bryar," Brian tells him. From a distance of about eight feet. "At least it wasn't slime?"

Bob glares at him as he gingerly takes off his hoodie and tries to shake some of the residue off of it. "I hate you, Schechter. And you are providing me with top shelf just as soon as the damn liquor store opens up again."

"You are such a baby." Brian rolls his eyes. "And you still don't deserve top shelf."

" _Hate_ ," Bob says again. The residue isn't coming off, and Bob hates his life. This was his second favorite hoodie. Maybe Ray will be able to get the gunk off of it.

"I'll make it up to you, Bryar," Brian says. "We're sending out groups to double check the area while some of us stay here to clean up. Frank can take you back to the house to get cleaned up."

Bob doesn't like it, but he knows he isn't going to be any use out on patrol smelling like he is; he'd probably attract shit they weren't looking for on top of the ones they were. "Fine. But we're taking your old room. I am not sleeping on the damn floor again. Or the basement. Or the van."

"Whatever, Bryar," Brian says as he walks away again. "I'm sure you'd survive."

Frank saddles up to Bob with a wicked grin. "So, I'm taking you back to the house to get clean? Does that mean fun and sexy shower times? Saving water, yadda yadda yadda."

"Does anyone actually believe that saves water?" Bob asks. He folds his hoodie up and motions Frank towards the door. The sooner he gets back to the house, the sooner he can get clean.

And he might just fuck Frank in the shower. It is his birthday party after all.

|-|

Bob doesn't have the chance to fuck Frank in the shower. It turns out the smoke residue does not react well to either water or soap, so Bob has to send Frank off to find Gerard's paint thinner, his nail polish remover, and finally the bottle of GooGone from the van before Bob is actually clean again. Bob's just happy the shit had only turned jelly-like and hadn't hardened into something Frank would have had to chisel off. Bob's even willing to deal with his skin being tinted a slight lime-green color.

Especially if it means Frank, in his infinite wisdom, trying to lick the tint from Bob's skin.

"You do realize that that isn't going to work, right?" Bob gasps out as Frank's tongue takes a slow turn in a southernly direction. Bob's hands are buried in the sheets, and the most he can see is the outer edge of whatever Brian had repainted over on the ceiling. Bob can't really tell. And Brian is the last person Bob wants to be thinking of right now.

"Oh, I know," Frank says. He's grinning up at Bob from the relative vicinity of Bob's navel when Bob looks down. When Frank sees that Bob is actually looking down at him, he wiggles his eyebrows at him. "But isn't this more fun than paint thinner and GooGone?"

For a horrifying moment, all Bob can picture is what would have happened to Frank had he tried to lick the smoke residue off of Bob's body. It is not a pleasant image. Bob throws an arm over his eyes and tries very, very hard to think of anything that would remove that image from his mind's eye. "Frank, I hate you."

Frank buries his face in Bob's stomach as his laughs hard enough to shake the entire bed. "I can't believe you actually pictured that! What the fuck, Bob?" He giggles when he comes up for air.

"I hate you," Bob repeats. That really was a disgusting mental image. "You suck so fucking much, Iero."

Frank clambers onto his hands and knees and crawls up Bob's body. He straddles Bob's hips, and tugs Bob's arm off of his face. "You lie, Bryar. Except about the sucking. I do do that," he says. He wiggles his eyebrows at Bob again. "I could be doing that right now, if you'd stop thinking of disgusting things that put you off our appetite."

Bob rolls his eyes. "Using the royal we now, Frank? What makes you think you're so important?"

Frank makes a show out of thinking about Bob's question. He sits back on his heels, scrunches his eyes, and even taps his finger against his chin as he pretends to think. Mostly it makes Bob want to roll his eyes and shove Frank off of him, except for how Bob is oddly fond of the little fucker, and sometimes Frank actually manages to be cute and adorable.

How, exactly, Frank manages that while straddling Bob naked after he's just trailed his tongue down the upper half of Bob's body is a mystery for the ages. A mystery Bob doesn't give one iota about solving.

As Frank continues his act, Bob reaches up, grabs Frank's hips, and in a single, smooth motion, flips them over. Frank squeaks when his back hits the bed, but Bob kisses him before he can say something else to distract them from Bob's purpose. Namely, fucking Frank through the mattress.

Frank's squeak turns into a moan as he settles under Bob. Frank's hands come up to grip Bob's shoulders, and his legs lock around Bob's back as easily as they would have on the practice mat. Bob pulls away from Frank's lips to drag his teeth along Frank's jaw to his ear, and then down his throat to where his neck meets his shoulder. Bob bites down there, eyes falling shut to the sound of Frank's ragged moans.

"Jesus fuck, Bob," Frank gasps out. "Did you want something, or are you just having fun?"

Bob sucks at the skin between his teeth for a moment, before letting go so he can sooth the sting with his tongue. He loves the way Frank always shivers when he does that; the way Frank's fingers dig in along Bob's shoulders. "I'm thinking, Frank. Are you not having fun?"

"Sure, totally not." Frank snorts and bucks his hips up against Bob's, his hard cock dragging along Bob's thigh until it slips and slides along Bob's own cock. They both moan at that, and Bob can't help but to thrust down against Frank. Bob's hands slide from Frank's hips to his ass, and he squeezes hard as he pulls Frank tighter against him.

Frank's head falls back against the bed as he gasps, "Fuck, Bob. Like that."

Bob grinds against Frank's cock for a minute as he returns his lips, and teeth, to Frank's throat. Bob is very happy that they're still the only ones in the house. Frank has a tendency towards very, very loud when they're in bed, and Bob's sure that, at the very least, the Alexes aren't old enough to be listening to what Frank's bound to shout.

"Okay, Bob," Frank says after a minute, voice strained. He moves one hand from Bob's shoulder to his hair, and he pulls Bob's head up so they can look at each other. Bob loves how Frank looks like this – wide eyes all dark pupil, flushed skin, and red, red lips – and he takes a moment to look at him.

"Bob, seriously, pay attention," Frank says. He gives Bob's hair a sharp tug. Bob pinches his ass in retaliation, and Frank giggles at him. "No, really, Bob. Pay attention."

Bob rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure that was what I was doing, Frankie."

"To what I'm saying, Bob, not my, admittedly awesome, body," Frank says.

Bob doesn't roll his eyes again, but it's more difficult than it should really be. "I'm listening, Frank. What's the problem?" He even stops moving, though that's more to keep himself from ending this early than it is for Frank's benefit.

Of course, the way Frank whines is a plus.

"You suck," Frank says.

"Uh-huh," Bob says. "What'd you want?"

Frank huffs out a breath. "I was trying to tell you that you should probably grab the condom if you wanted any actually fucking to be done tonight."

"What, you trying to tell me I've got you all hot and bothered?"

Frank lets out a tiny growl as he smacks Bob in the shoulder, both of which have the adverse reaction of making Bob laugh. "Fuck you, Bob."

"Nah, maybe next time," Bob says. He leans down and kisses Frank again as he reaches for the lube and condoms they'd left up by the pillows. Frank, being Frank, does what he can to distract Bob from his task.

Still, Bob isn't one to deviate from his set course without a damn good reason – apocalypses, raiding hordes of demons from one of the lower hell dimensions, his mom's chocolate chip cookies – so despite Frank's wandering hands and teeth, Bob doesn't let them distract him from the task at hand. Despite his cursing to the contrary.

The only time Frank is ever really quiet is that moment when Bob pushes inside him. Frank doesn't even shut up when he's sleeping, not that that really bothers Bob. Quiet doesn't really mean much when a constant stream of sleepy mumbles tells you that the person next to you is still alive and, mostly, whole.

But when Bob presses inside, Frank's entire body goes still and quiet. All Bob can feel is the tight heat around his cock and Frank's eyes, more intent than Bob has ever seen him outside of these moments, watching Bob. Bob bottoms out and holds still, feeling Frank grip and squeeze as he adjusts, and runs his hands up and down Frank's sides, careful to keep his touch firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough not to distract Frank from what's really going on.

"Bob," Frank says after a minute. He's still watching Bob, but now his hips are twitching against Bob's and his hands are finger tipping their way up Bob's shoulders. "Come here." His hands bury themselves in Bob's hair as Frank drags Bob down to kiss him.

That changes the angle, and Bob can't stop himself from pulling out and thrusting back in. Frank moans into Bob's mouth, his hips working with Bob's, but he doesn't let Bob leave the kiss.

"Stay," Frank whispers when Bob moves to find a better angle for thrusting. Frank's legs tighten around Bob's waist, and one hand leaves Bob's hair to trail up and down Bob's neck, just like they had in the study earlier. This time Bob doesn't stop the shivers from showing.

All right then, if Frank wants it slow and sweet, then Bob isn't going to complain. He just shifts so that he's on his elbows above Frank, both of his hands sinking into Frank's hair, holding him in place for another kiss. He keeps the rhythm set to the soft sounds Frank utters every time his cock rubs between their bellies.

It doesn't take long before Bob's hips start to move a little more insistently, dropping him off of their rhythm so Bob can push harder into Frank, faster. That first hard thrust has Frank arching into Bob and cursing him. "Fuck, yes, yes. Right there, fucker."

Bob nudges Frank's head to the side so he can bite down the length of Frank's throat, each bite a counterpoint to his thrusts. "Frankie."

They manage another minute, maybe, before Frank is arching and shouting as he comes. The hand still in Bob's hair gives a hard yank, causing Bob to groan and shove harder into Frank. Bob damn near sees stars when he comes, between the hair pulling and the way Frank clamps down around him like a vice grip.

Bob doesn't know how long they lie there, tangling and slowly gluing themselves together, before the first set of cars pull into the driveway. Bob has his head resting on Frank's shoulder, and Frank is idly tracing patterns onto Bob's upper back.

"I suppose that means we should move," Frank says with a sigh. He leans down and presses his lips to Bob's hair.

"Well, we could just stay like this until morning," Bob says. He squeezes Frank's side gently. "Of course, then we'd have to explain to Gerard and Brian just why we need Ray to brew us up an anti-glue potion."

Frank snorts. "Yeah, that sounds like fun. And just for kicks, we can have Jamia, Alicia, and Mikey providing the peanut gallery commentary." He pushes at Bob's shoulder until Bob grumbles and rolls off of Frank. Bob is very much glad he'd already taken care of the condom.

Outside car doors are slamming, and Bob can hear Brian arguing with Spencer about some obscure prophecy. Bob knows that Brian will be poking his head into the room in about ten minutes to make sure that both of them are still alive and well.

"You can go get the washcloths," Bob says. He pokes Frank in the shin with his foot. "It's still my birthday."

Frank snorts but he rolls out of the bed anyway. "Your birthday was four months ago, Bryar. Today was your party."

"Birthday, party, whatever," Bob says. He stretches himself out along the bed, enjoying the, maybe, two minutes he'll have the bed to himself. "I've earned the right to be lazy."

"I suppose that means you'll want cake for breakfast," Frank says. Then he curses as he runs into something on his way to the door in the dark.

"It is my cake," Bob says. Not that he actually would considering the most Bob can stomach before lunch is coffee and toast. He rolls onto his side and doesn't stop his eyes from falling shut.

"Lazy bastard," Frank mutters as he opens the bedroom door. There's a pause, probably Frank checking to see if the coast is clear, then the door shuts again.

Not the worst birthday party he's ever had, Bob thinks to himself as he slowly drifts off to the sound of Brian and Ray shouting at Frank to put some fucking clothes on. At least he didn't have to deal with piñatas or fucking clowns. On a scale of one to ten, clowns still rank higher than zompires.


End file.
